The Beer

How long did it take me to write a post about the Beer... a bit too long.  Let's be honest, its basically all the same here. English Beer should become the new definition of Session Beer. I can't even count on two hands how many Beers I have seen sub-3% out here... that's practically a juice box that has been sitting out for a few hours! What the hell am I going to do with a 2.5% beer? Beyond this they are all bitters.  This means that they are extremely malty, with a dry hop finish.  And don't be fooled by the different lables; Wheat, ESB, Old Ale... They are all the same.

This is not to say its bad. Its a hell of a lot better than that fermented yellow fizz that so many Americans call beer; but should instead hail it the same as what it's called when it exits the body. It's just sooo dammnnn homogeneous.

One of the main difficulties is that legally anything over 6% is taxed at the same rate that wine is taxed.  This is to curb binge drinking, but ultimately what happens is that the Brits just drink shots if they want to get pissed. As we all know from blue laws, people will always find a way to get drunk, no matter what is written.

What I do love though, is that though the microbrew culture is not in full swing, the culture is ingrained with beer.  No one will look at you weird if you want a beer for lunch, or on a Tuesday night think its a great idea to go running for 4-5 miles in a giant group simply so you have an excuse to drink (www.cityhash.org), which I might add is a total blast.

Even through it all, there is the tingling of the revolution. Brew Dog  has had explosive growth, with no signs of slowing down and a new brewery Camden Town, though not reaching as far from the Londoner palate has some very nicely balanced and crisp beers, extremely well made for food pairing. If you are ever in London, visit the brewery or grab a pint at a local pub, it is a truly enjoyable session beer.

The next 5 years, I believe, hold the same potential of the last 5 years in the US.  If anyone wants to get in on the action email me and I can tell you where to send your loads of cash... to become rich... beer rich ;)

Ultimately, its a million times better than Los Angeles, I can still find the same beers; its just a bit harder.

The Police

London...... London...... London....... so many police, that are so tremendously ineffective... at first site.  Before the new year the officials here in London politely asked the Occupy St. Pauls to vacate promptly. Due to my US upbringing I assumed this meant they would get about an hour before the pepper spray, batons, rubber bullets, and tear gas came out.

Nope, that is not what happened. In fact the only thing that has happened so far is the camp has gotten larger every time I run past it. They keep mainly to themselves, and frankly don't smell at all.  I do think that they could use some consulting on how to make their information tent more inviting. The main point is that although the have been sternly told to leave, their refusal has not led to an incredibly over the top response by authority figures.

We have also been watching quite a few of the cop shows. One cop pulled over some teens that were going quite a bit too fast around a circle.  Instead of just issuing a ticket the cop pulled the kid out, showed him how the inside of his tire was going completely bald because of how he was driving.  He also assisted the kid in changing his first tire.  The ticket still came, but a valuable lesson as well.

I like that the police that one sees on the street aren't even carrying pepper spray.  They are informative personnel with only the weapons of pen, paper, radio and the British legal system.  There are elite squads that do carry pepper spray, and even more elite squads that carry guns.  The more weapons they carry, the more they are trained, as the misuse of these often leads to public distrust like what happened this summer. What you would never, ever see here, is a university rentacop with minimal training, less education and a obvious hatred for college kids armed with military grade pepper spray or a NY cop with a vendetta against already contained women carrying the same.  What you generally see here is a mutual respect between public and public servants.

This all gives me the sense that the government is afraid, if only a little, of the people, and not the other way around.

Roasted Monkey Nuts

While on the topic of food, I discovered these today. Does this mean that baseball fans are monkeys?

Culinary Adventures

As I write this post, David is busy in the kitchen preparing some wild duck we picked up at Broadway Market today along with some Wild Boar ravioli.

The past few weeks have been filled with some new adventures in food. Some of which I’ve blogged about already (Percy Pigs and Haggis).

One of my favorite things about Europe in general, is the variety of food that is available to us. From the grocery stores to the markets, there’s always something new to try.

Recently we went to the Rivington Grill with our friend Theresa. They specialize in posh traditional British food.  There we saw something on the menu, you’d never see in the states: A warning to watch out for the shot pellets that might be left in game.

It was also there that we tried new things like mashed neeps (turnip), bubble and squeak (a fried patty of the remnants of Sunday roast – potatoes, carrots and such), and blood pudding. All quite delicious, although I can’t say I’ll try blood pudding again – didn’t like the texture. I think I get points for trying though! We’ll definitely be visiting the Rivington again.

Then there were these beauties (conveniently located next to my beer) that my colleagues introduced me to:

Basically they are Cheetos without the cheese, add fake roast beef flavor. Mmmm….no. I think that’s something you had to grow up on, but appreciate the opportunity to try all the varieties of crisps (chips) offered here. 

Haggis, Not a Myth

Readily available just in time for Robert Burns Day.

I have to admire the British use of most parts of the animal. However, I will not be trying Haggis. Sorry.

Percy Pigs

According to everyone here these are awesome:

I've been hearing about them for quite a while, but today my colleagues Brad and Pete thought we should buy some a client meeting. They are right, Percy Pigs are awesome:

And just so you know this is not candy, it's a sweet. They don't use the term candy and get quite upset when you use it. It's either "chocolate" (if it's chocolate) or "sweets" (for everything else). 

Siri is an Imperialist

Megan: “Yes, you heard me right Siri, I think you are an imperialist.”

Siri: “If you say so.”

Megan: “Why yes, yes I do.”

For those of you who don’t know, Siri (he in the UK, she in the US) is Apple iPhone’s voice assistant service.

After much ado about getting a “real” phone (see my previous post on surviving with a phone from 1999 until I could get an iPhone here, and David’s rebuttal to my post here), I have my iPhone. And it’s great, except for one HUGE flaw. See the below conversation:

Based on my research, this is a widespread issue and there is no way around it except to begin speaking with a British accent. So upon this discovery during Boozy Lunch and Museum Sunday (will explain in a future post), imagine three Americans taking turns to see who could get Siri to understand them.  We all lost, horribly.

No I didn’t say, “How many miles between here and Martin jealous.” (I actually said, “how many miles between here and Los Angeles.”)

I guess in the mean time we’ll just go on practicing: "The rain in Spain stays mostly in the plain. The rain in Spain stays mostly in the plain. The rain in Spain stays mostly in the plain…”

Getting a Phone from 1999

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Get yourself a pay as you go phone from the Car Phone Warehouse which has locations all over London. The phone that you are going to get is probably going to look like it is straight out of 1999, such as the one that Megan and I got.

You can get a real phone once you get a Current Account.  Rather than waiting until these are done, just get the phone, it will be very useful when you have out of town guests.

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Getting a Real Phone

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So you want to get off the plane and pick up your brand spankin new phone... aint going to happen unless you are willing to throw down a ton of money and get a month to month phone card for an outrageous amount of money.

What you are going to need to get to get a contract phone is to get a bank card by opening a Current Account at a local bank.  Once you have one of these you will be able to go into a phone store, the big ones here are: O2, 3, and Vodophone.

Once you have chosen your plan and you get to the store you are going to need your Passport as well as your Bank Card.  Outside of this you are pretty much set.  For Megans phone we went with the One Plan with 3 which cost us £99 and £35 a month... which ain't bad.

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Really!?!?!?!??!?!?!?! (Working Title)

To not confuse the viewer, this is a joint blog post. Megan's will be written like this and Davids will be written like this.

Today I was really egging for a good beer. There a few micro breweries round these parts. Initially I wanted to travel out to Lovibonds Brewery out in Henley-On-Thames (quite literally the name of the town, including dashes) due to the fact that the brewer Jeff Rosenmeier happens to be an expat just like us (recomended by Ed Murray from Shotover Brewing).

However due to short notice, and no idea how far we would have to travel, we chose to head up to Camden Town Brewery. After a bit of an ordeal actually finding the entrance to the place we saw that the entire place had no resemblance to a micro-brewery that was open to the public. After a bit of an internal argument we turned around and started walking back up the street... I then I thought of the song 'Sunscreen' given to the class of 1997 where he says, 'Do something that scares you every day,' and I promptly did an about face to head back in the direction of the brewery where we met the Brewer from Down Under named Nick, who, after we asked him if the brewery had public tastings, offered us a tasting of bottles from the collection of unfinished cases. Thank you Nick, Camden town goes into my breweries of choice in the future.

So totally against my will we end up at Camden Town Brewery and it ends up being a great experience. Their tasting room is currently under constructions, so instead of some tastings they just gave us four bottles of their beer. Totally awesome outcome. We leave our info and head out to the high street where David spots a store with a bunch of beers in the window. We head in and find all sorts of micro-brews from all over the world. David fills up on them and then we have the dilemma of actually carrying the 12 beers he just picked up.

We start heading towards our new neighbourhood (Camden, near Euston station) and find a great spot for lunch. I have "American" pancakes and David indulges on some babyback ribs that don't quite meet his expectations, then we head further south towards our hood.

Eventually we land in what we think is to be our new local pub. There's an old man (check). There's even a pub cat named Sylvester (double check!).

The pub is relatively empty, but has that distinct feeling that there have been some really great times. The only other table filled by other customers has four blokes from unknown origins, but known intoxication, which happens to be high. The locals all crowd around a small corner of the pub and discuss the decision to create a new high speed rail line that will destroy the neighbourhood, and most likely the bar. Luckily for us, that is still a few years off... hopefully.

A few of the guys from the other table get up to have a smoke, leaving one. We start talking, you know about this and that, and he comes over to sit by us, a bit ready to leave the group he is with currently... which we soon find out why.

Soon his friends join us at our table. We are engaged in conversation with our new friends when there seems to be a bit of commotion. The locals start coming over and telling the guys that they can't do "that" in public.

I look over, completely clueless and see a rolled up dollar bill. Wait a second...is that what I think it is. I've only seen this in movies, never real life.

Oh shit...we could lose our visas is my next thought.

Yes... we see some dudes doing cocaine... the table over. WTF Mate... WTF.

For the first time in David's life he considered leaving beers half drunk on the table. I go into hyper-drink-your-beer-and-make-up-lies-to-get-out-of-there-mode.

Nice meeting you dudes. Welcome to the neighborhood. Is pepper spray legal here? Regardless, where do I get some?

The End.

Getting a Bank Account

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Getting a current account here has been quite easy for us, but we have heard horror stories from some of compatriots. A current account is the English equivalent of a checking account.  A Current Account is also exceptionally important and one of the first things you want to do as you will only be able to get a phone from 1999 and you will not be able to get a flat without one.

After some discussion we decided ultimately with HSBC. The reasons we went with HSBC is because they have a minimal monthly charge on the advanced account, which does not charge you at ATM's outside of the country.  As well, if we end up moving somewhere else they will help us set up a bank account in that new country.

One of our friends actually started a bank account with Barclay's, but then had their account shut down without explanation.  Every Londoner that we have met and talked about this subject have told me that both Lloyd's and Santander are total Bollocks. Beyond these banks I have heard nothing else. 

It is also important to decide whether or not you are going to open a UK account or an offshore account. I will touch on this in a future post, however, for the time being, if you plan on being here less than three years, and know you will be travelling for work quite often, then open an offshore account. Any bank in London has offshore accounts and can help you with this.  We have decided not to open an offshore account.

To start our account we needed proof that we had intentions to be here for at least two years.  Banks around here really do not want to start an account for someone that only plans on being here for 6 months.  They also ALL told us that a credit card will be offered 3-6 months after we get here, to show that there is little risk we will just up and leave overnight after maxing one out.

Steps to a new current account:

Step 1: check out the banks, pick up some pamphlets and see who has the best Current Account for your situation.
Step 2: set up an appointment with a Personal Banker at a branch near your flat. You might be able to just walk in, but most of the time this is expected
Step 3: get your documents in order. You will need:

           Passport

           Visa

           UK Address

           Letter of Employment including verification of UK Address

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A Tale of Two Phones

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was a phone that lasted 5 days with out recharge, and it was the phone that wouldn't allow you to update your twitter feed every 5 minutes.

This is a rebutte of my wife's last post explaining how terrible the phone is.  I would like to go point by point of what she says, and see if we can read between the lines.

All it does is make calls and texts - YES! A phone that actually makes calls and texts... consistently... WOOHOO!

It doesn’t even have a camera - At times I also find this annoying, however I have found myself reverting back to a time when I truly enjoyed the experience, rather than trying to document.  As one cannot measure the velocity and location of a particle simultaneously, a person cannot experience and document that experience simultaneously.

it does have a torch - Eh... sort of stupid... the screen is a bit brighter than the torch itself.

Writing out a text takes about 10 minutes - But... on the plus side you have a full 5 days of battery power, so you will have plenty of time to type those texts!

What she failed to mention was the fact that you can program a fake call!  Need to end a boring conversation in a somewhat rude, but understandable manner?  Fake call. Programmable to 5, 10 and 60 seconds from the time it is activated.

I also have rarely seen the phone come out and be placed on the dinner table just in case a text/email/facebook post important enough to stop a conversation pops up.  By having this phone everyone also knows that there are only two ways to contact us, which is pretty cool.  As well, I believe that I am getting a far better mental image of how London geography is due to the fact that I cannot completely rely on googlemaps.

Yes, it is true, this phone is straight out of 1999... but was communication back then so much worse than it is today?  Was it really so bad to enjoy the moments between your hello hug/handshake and your goodbye hug/handshake with just the person that you hugged/handshook? No, I would say not.  In fact I would say in many ways it is better, more personal.  This phone brings me back to the days when Clinton was president, our economy was booming, Airports were still fun to go to and there were rumors of this really neat technology that would let us listen to hundreds of songs out of an incredibly large 5GB iPod.  If this phone is bad, I don't want to be good. Let us all party like its 1999, period phones required.

Experiencing London Like It’s 1999 with a “Drug Dealer” Phone

In order to get a contract mobile phone in the UK you must have a UK debit card. Actually, to do just about anything you need a UK debit card. In order to get said debit card you have to all sorts of other things that I won’t bother you with. Ultimately the process of getting what you need to get a phone contract, and subsequently a “real” phone (i.e. iPhone) takes about two weeks, so in the mean time we needed some form of communication.

Enter the mobile phone you had in 1999:

It’s sweet (David actually really likes it, meanwhile I lust over everyone elses' iphones). All it does is make calls and texts. It doesn’t even have a camera – but it does have a torch (flashlight)! Writing out a text takes about 10 minutes. Google maps? In your dreams!

I like to refer to it as “the drug dealer phone” because it is completely untraceable. It cost £10 for the phone itself and another £10 for a pay-as-you-go SIM. Who knew that phones that cost about $16 even existed?

This experience has left me wondering what people did before smartphones. Particularly in London where there is no grid system. Anytime I go somewhere I write out directions on a piece of paper and pray. I guess this is sort of like how people got around in medieval times? Except of course I can duck into a Starbucks and look up directions on my iPad if I get really desperate.

A Cockney and A Kiwi

The other night Megan and I went to the local pub, which we endearingly call the 'Ducky Duck'; mostly due to the fact we had only seen it for a second, we were jet lagged, and I might have had a little too much to drink in business class to not have realized it is actually called 'The Slaughtered Lamb'. Since it is a mere half block from our corporate housing it makes it an exceptionally easy pub to get to and have a jug.

After purchasing two pints with what I later would be told is called a cockle, we sat down on a red leather couch with tears in the back side exposing some white cotton. Were this to exist anywhere but the dimly lit well frequented pub, say in a college apartment, it most certainly would have come from a back alley, however, in this particular instance it only adds to the ambiance of this eclectic bar.  Imbibing the well deserved suds after a long day, a stocky well groomed man with a flat cap (The Cockney) on walked over and sat down opposite us on a grandfather chair exclaiming, 'Cheer up, its almost the weekend!' (it wasn't, it was almost Wednesday, which half way through, is half way through to the weekend; that being said, his enthusiasm almost made me believe it.) Soon after a taller man with what can only be described as 'cool scruff' (you know, well kept, but meant to look not well kept, in that cool sort of way that Megan hates me doing) (The Kiwi) walked over and sat down on a couch. Introduced as Ben and Mike respectively, we started sharing stories of fabled lands and forgotten pasts.

We soon found a bit about Cockney history, whom come from a long line of workers whom grow up on the east side of London and have a particularly interesting lingo. For whatever reason, they have decided that it is a good idea to confuse us uninformed foreigners with words that mean other words through rhyme.  Some of you might recall that in 'Snatch' there is a Cockney who mentions that they are in 'Barney... Barney Rubble... We're in Trouble!!!' Well that's cockney. I am sure that some Anthropologist somewhere has fully documented this, but on this particular evening I got a short history of the Cockney culture, and a longer explanation of what Cockney's both sound and how they ask for money.

It was something that I have always been slightly interested in, and it was fairly interesting to get the explanation directly from a primary source. I have a feeling that if one were to follow my history back to when the Brassfield's came from England, one would find that they were part of this culture.  Why do I say this?  It is because one can't follow the Brassfield's back to England, no Brassfield's ever existed there. They apparently just sort of appeared in the USA at some point. I like to think that its because they got fed up with living as peasants in England during the early 1700's, ripped off the wrong people, and got the hell out of dodge. Also, being that we are fairly certain that Brassfield's came from England, in the late 1600's/ early 1700's, the vast majority of citizens during that period were peasants in England, as well, due to the miserable documentation, they were probably of a class that was not interested, nor anyone interested in documenting. I am not sure when Cockney's came about, but the are most definitely from the working class.

The Kiwi and I talked alot about how interesting it is being in London, both being descendent of the British Empire, we grew up in cities that are relative babies compared to their aged Grandfather, whos streets and name are of unkown origin. I really liked his idea of country being like a human life.  They begin, learning the world, get to their teenage years start fighting everything with little success, get a bit older, more dominant, start full on wars, and then once this is done, they relax, start looking internally and seeing how they could better themselves and the world around them.


Beyond the history of Cockney from a Cockney, and the existential nature of cities and countries,  I got a lesson from the pair on the proper way to say Bollocks (more of a single syllable word), the difference between someone being bollocks, and being the bollocks.  For an American, bollocks can be used any time 'shit' is used, but, in a neat turn of events, it can also be used any time 'Fucked' is used. So its sort of a duel brand curse word. Neat, huh?  Having a laugh, Deep Sea Diver (Fiver), Bag of Sand (Grand) among other words described. Ill be posting all of the ones I remember on an earlier post.  Ultimately I had a great night, met some really interesting blokes, and knew that this kind of conversation would never, ever happen in Los Angeles, with only slightly better chance of happening in Chicago.  This is a pretty nice spot on earth, maybe it really is because nurturing nature of an grandfathery city.

Anyways, cheerio till next time.

David

On the Weather

I’ve been told that the English love to talk about the weather. It certainly seems that every time I mention that we’ve just moved from Los Angeles people remark something along the lines of, “you left that for sunny London? Why?”.

You might chalk it up to Karma or irony that after two years of sunny and 72° (22° C) and my never waning delight in bragging about it, that I’d end up in London.

Funny thing is, the weather’s not that bad. Having lived in Chicago for eight years this is nothing. Sure, it’s almost guaranteed to rain every day, but it’s not that cold.

I see a sequel to L.A. Story in the works: London Story (Steve Martin, call me when you're ready). They could probably pre-tape the weather.

And by 20% chance of rain, they mean 100% chance of rain, just for only 20% of the day.

We've Reverted to Children

We’re nearly two weeks in and in reflecting upon our situation I’ve decided that we’ve reverted to children.

It’s funny because there’s this perception that because we speak the same language (huge point of debate really) this should all come easy to us. While it’s easier than being in China presumably, we are having to relearn a lot of things.

Crossing the street for instance. Think back to when you were a young child and your parents held your hand as they taught you to look both ways. Well they taught you to look LEFT (then right, then left again). Imagine trying to rewire your brain to now look RIGHT. Not to mention, traffic seems to come from every direction here. It’s terrifying! Thank God, seriously, for the reminders on nearly every street that tell you which direction to look. While true Londoners brave the streets and jaywalk, we find ourselves patiently (ha!) waiting for the light to change for fear of death by bus or motor bike.

Then there are matters of money. I love the money here, and since it still feels like vacation we seem to be spending it like it’s similar colored cousin Monopoly money – well the bills at least. The first weekend David sat down with me, again like you would with a child, and we practiced the coins. The one and two pound coins are easy, but beyond that I’m a bit lost. I find myself taking handfuls of change and just putting them in shopkeepers faces, and leaving what I pay up to their patience and honesty.

When I think I’ve finally gotten the coins down, our cheque (not check) books arrived. I opened them up and the first thing that popped into my head was, “what the fuck is this”!? I clearly remember that lesson in fifth grade where they taught us how to write out a check and balance our checkbooks. This is nothing like that. Someone is literally going to have to sit us down and show us how to do this.

But with all of this, I don’t want you to think that a child-like approach to living abroad is a bad one. Eventually we’ll have to grow up, but in the mean time we are seeing this city with a lens that I believe will help us make the most of it while we can.

Let’s Play A Game

Only people who don’t immediately know what the picture is please. And googling is cheating!

Imagine you would like to cook something in the oven. The whole Celsius thing aside, you are presented with this dial (see picture).

Your choices are:

• Upside down mountain range
• Melting Snowflake
• Fan
• Upside down light bulb

Contextually you know that these all must be the basic functions of the oven – bake, broil, etc. But do these symbols really make sense? Not to be a cultural imperialist, but in the US we just spell it out. Bake is “Bake”; Broil is “Broil” – it’s pretty straight forward.

Pretty much we’ve just been using the Fan function with enough success. I did find out from some colleagues (who have been gracious enough to entertain all of my questions with much patience) that the Upside down mountain range is Grill (known to Americans as broil).

For all of the answers have a look at all the possible symbols that could be on a UK oven here: http://www.dreamkitchensuk.com/oven_symbols.html

I have never ordered a Venti at Starbucks...

but I am finding myself quickly picking up the lingo round these parts. Cheers seems to be used by almost anyone at any time for any reason. Megan said that this seems to be similar to 'Prego' in Italy. Bollocks seems to rarely be used, at least not nearly as much as 'V for Vendetta' leads you to believe. Canteen is the word used for Cafeteria, 'Knock on Wood' is 'Touch Wood', but with the English accent the 'oo' comes out like 'oor' so to the Mid-Westerner it sound more like 'Touch Word' and Pantene Pro-V (the Shampoo) is pronounced 'Pan-ten'. So beyond just different words, they bollocks the piss out of pronounciation, and one more word of advice, seriously, in England DON'T 'TOOL AROUND'.

Check out our English-American Dictionary for the full list!


Words
Bollocks = Screwed up, Disbelief (Curse)
Bloke = Male, Man
Canteen = Cafeteria
Cheers = General word of acceptance and greeting, thank you, etc., etc., etc.,
Mate = Man, Buddy, Pal (Not necessarily directed at someone familiar)
Pudding = Dessert
Piss(ed) = Frazzled, messed up, not top of game, drunk
Sorted = Figured out

Tool = Penis

Pronounciation
H = HAECH
OO = OOr
Pantene Pro-V = Panten Pro-V

Z = Zed


Phrases
Having a laugh = Contextual, Either a group of people that are having a bit of fun together, or a group of people that are making fun of someone else
Touch Wood = Knock on Wood ('Thats what she said' would not make sense after someone uses this phrase... at lease I have not tried yet)

Day 1: Where are the Eggs?

It’s Day 1 of our adventures in London. We’ve landed in the morning, are quite jetlagged after not really getting any sleep due to the excitement of it all, and now it’s time to get acclimated.

After the hour long, and very expensive £100 ($160) cab ride into the city we’ve found our temporary home for the next month while we find a more permanent apartment.

Knowing that we must keep ourselves awake, we drop our bags and hit the town. In a short walk we find ourselves at St. Paul’s Cathedral. WOW. Already impressed and it’s only hour two. We continue on with random exploring for a few more hours then decide to head back and do some grocery shopping.

Around the corner from our apartment are two markets: Waitrose and Tesco. We divide and conquer and look at the egg prices in each to get a grasp of store pricing. Should take about two minutes, you’d think?

Not wanting to give away too quickly that I’m a foreigner and don’t really know my way around, I quickly walk the store, doing a more in-depth exploration of the refrigerated aisles. Hmm…that’s interesting. There are about fifty types of butter and equal amounts of cream and milk, but no eggs to be found?

That’s ok, I lived in Rome. They don’t put eggs in the fridge here, but they should be by the dairy right? It’s at about this time that David walks in from his task, completed, and we continue the search together to no avail. Eventually we ask for help and find our eggs on the shelf by the bread.

This just commenced an hour long exploration of the grocery store. Our favorite products:

• · Puppy patterned toilet paper
• · Two 750ml bottles of Leffe (Belgian Beer) for £5
• · Orangina Light

Welcome to living in Europe! Throw out all your preconceived notions of how things should be – they don’t refrigerate the eggs!!